


Three O'clock Confessions

by jewboykahl



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Love Confessions, M/M, gay boys, gay poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26576104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewboykahl/pseuds/jewboykahl
Summary: Kyle is utterly fed up with Eric calling him high in the middle of the night, and becomes even more upset when it is the only time his crush will reveal his mutual feelings of love. Eric has a plan, however... or, a poem.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman
Comments: 12
Kudos: 122





	Three O'clock Confessions

“Goddamn it.” Kyle muttered under his breath when he was infuriatingly ripped from his slumber. It had been the second time that _week_ that the loud buzzing of his cellphone against his bed-side table had woken him up at way-too-fucking-early o’clock—and the sixth time that month.

The angry teenager kept his nose pressed to the comfort of his pillow as he lifted his hand to grab the vibrating device. He opened one eye to confirm what he already knew— _Fatass_ was calling. Kyle scoffed to himself and thought about just ignoring his friend, Eric Cartman. He should have, considering he answered every other time to nothing but mindless tangents that were born from Eric’s inebriated state. Ever since he discovered illicit substances, he had begun regularly partaking with a few of their classmates. Kyle made sure he knew just how stupid and irresponsible it is of him to do this, but as usual, he didn’t listen.

“Kahl,” Eric giggled from the other line after Kyle reluctantly pressed answer. The redhead cringed at the mispronunciation of his name being worsened by his drunken slurring. “Hey, you answered!”

“What do you want, dumbass?”

“I just wanna talk you. To you. Kahl. Brofloverviski.”

Kyle huffed, “Cartman, it’s three in the fucking morning, do you have anything actually important to say?”

“Uh, yeah, Kahl. Kahl,” he dragged out his name. “I’m—I think I’m in your backyard.”

“What?!” Kyle spat in surprise, propelling himself upright from the comfort of his mattress. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I was with Clyde’s house and then we had a lot of shit and then I thought of something important to tell you so I was gon’ climb into your window and tell you but I fell and got stuck. Come talk to me!” Eric explained slowly, hiccupping every once in a while.

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, composing himself. “Are you okay?”

“I think. There’s blood, probably, but I smoked too much pot to feel it.”

“God fucking damn it, Cartman. Don’t move.” He ordered before disconnecting the call. Kyle pushed the comforter from his legs and crawled out of bed. He stumbled to his dresser and retrieved pair of sweatpants and hastily pulled them over his long, scrawny legs. He was seething with rage, every action far more dramatic than it should be. He couldn’t believe that asshole had gotten himself hurt. How many times had he told Cartman he was putting himself in danger by doing this?

After stepping into an old pair of boots, the redhead trudged downstairs, not overly concerned with keeping quiet. He rubbed the sleep from his eye and braced himself for the cold that would soon shock him further into consciousness. He slid the door ajar and shivered when the freezing weather hit him like a ton of bricks. Sharp brown eyes immediately landed on the pile of Cartman that was crumpled up on the ground against his house. Kyle gasped under his breath when he saw a long gash across his forehead. “Holy shit, dude!”

A combination of wine coolers, vodka, and marijuana rendered Eric utterly wasted in every sense of the word. Kyle was a blurry figured rushing towards him, and his manipulated depth perception prevented him from realizing that he was close enough to touch him. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“What the hell did you do?! You’re bleeding!” Kyle exclaimed with worry flushing his face. He gingerly cupped Eric’s chubby cheeks in his hand and scrutinized the condition of his injury. “You’re fucking retarded, you know that?”

“Nah, I’m cool. How are you?”

Kyle blinked, “Are you drunk _and_ high?”

Eric paused, squinting to make out the details of his face. “I am.”

“Fucking stupid asshole,” Kyle mumbled under his breath. He reached forward and snaked his arm around the drunkard’s wide middle. Managing to get both of them to their feet with somewhat difficulty, he kept a tight grip on the swaying Eric and led him towards the back entrance of the house. “How the hell did you even get in my backyard?”

Eric shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve broken into your house plenty of times.”

“That’s not normal.” The brunette barked a laugh at that response, which was not meant to be a joke. Kyle shot him a glare, eyebrows knit together. “Keep your mouth shut when we get inside. My whole family is asleep.”

Eric continued to chortle, using the microscopic sliver of sobriety to cater to Kyle’s demands to quiet himself down. On the way up to Kyle’s bedroom, he grabbed three bottles of water from the fridge. Traveling on level ground proved to be a challenge for Eric in his drunken stupor—but going up stairs was a whole new world. He tripped multiple times, falling against the steady (and annoyed) Kyle for support. It would have been much funnier if it had only happened a few times under different circumstances. When his feet ceased slipping long enough to ascend, Kyle gave thanks to God, and they made it into the quiet and comfort of his tidy bedroom.

Kyle let out a breath of relief when he secured the door shut. Eric watched him do so through half-hooded eyes, nearly rocking back and forth from the lack of balance he possessed. Kyle set the water bottles on his desk before grabbing both of Eric’s freezing hands and leading him to the mattress. “Do you ever think about how lucky you are to have someone like me in your life that puts up with your bullshit?” He asked.

Eric pulled a cheesy smile as Kyle went to work unbuttoning his thick coat that was wet with snow. He replied, “Every day.”

“Right,” Kyle scoffed, prying the jacket from his arms and turning to drape it over his office chair. He swiped a bottle from his wooden desk and twisted the cap off, then offered it to the drunk idiot in his bed. “Here, drink this. I’ll be right back.”

Eric pouted. “I’m not hungry, baby.”

Kyle scrunched his nose at the pet-name and jutted his hip out and staring up at the ceiling. “Drink the fucking water so I don’t have to hear you complain about your hangover all day tomorrow. And don’t call me baby,”

“You’re so cute when you’re all mother-y.” The brunette pointed out with a short giggle before doing as he was told. When he was done sipping at the beverage provided by Kyle he drawled, “Babe,”

Kyle kicked off his shoes and shook his head, “Don’t compliment me when you’re drunk. Or high. Or _both_.”

“Why not?” Eric quipped with a lazy smile.

Kyle huffed, “Because I can’t tell if you mean it or not.”

With that, the redhead exited his bedroom to return a few moments later with a damp washcloth. He approached the blood and gently pressed the rag to the small cut on his forehead. “How did you manage this?”

“I don’ really remember. I think I was tryna climb up your wall and I slipped and hit my head on something.” Eric explained, having a hard time keeping his eyes open as he did so, Kyle’s soothing thumb rubbing soothing circles against his cheek as he wiped the blood away.

Kyle sighed through his nose, withdrawing his touch and tossing the used cloth into his hamper. Eric forced his eyelids to separate themselves as Kyle slid out of his sweatpants and hoodie, leaving him in nothing but a baggy graphic t-shirt and tight boxers. Although his vision was vaguely impaired by his dizziness he was able to thoroughly appreciate the blissful, perky nirvana that was Kyle Broflovski’s ass. His entirety ached for attention from his friend when he guided him into a laying position on the soft sheets. Their aroma was a pleasant mixture of laundry detergent and Kyle. Eric grinned and let his eyes close again.

Kyle set the other containers of cold water on the bedside table before climbing into the opposite side of the bed. He peered down at Eric, lips curling into a small grin at the other boy who could already be asleep; his winter beanie crooked on his head, cheek puffed out against the pillow and bottom lip protruding slightly. Kyle reached over and gently removed the hat from Eric’s head and replaced it with his fingers tracing through the thick brown hair that was moistened with precipitation. “You are so lucky you’re cute.” Kyle murmured to himself.

Unsatisfied with the distance between himself and Kyle, Eric shifted closer to the other boy’s body and planted his head right in Kyle’s lap. Kyle’s irritated gaze burned a hole in the half-asleep boy’s skull. “Cartman, get the fuck off of me.”

“But you’re so comfy.” Eric slurred, inadvertently nuzzling his head in Kyle’s crotch.

The redhead’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. He cursed the wave of pleasure that shot through him, “Okay. Seriously, move, dude. I’m not kidding.”

Eric let out a whine, reminiscent of a toddler, “I just wanna sleep next to you.”

“You are literally on my dick, Cartman. Please get off my dick.”

Eric opened his own eyes to confirm that he was in fact very close to Kyle’s genital region. He smirked, leaning his head back against his thigh instead and smirking up at him. “Like you _don’t_ want me on your dick.” 

“Try again when your breath doesn’t smell like a mixture of rum and death.” Kyle attempted to draw attention away from the blush rising on his cheeks but remained paranoid that Eric would still be keen enough to notice in his rare form.

“Take me or leave me, baby,” Eric retorted as he settled into a more comfortable position in Kyle’s lap.

“I’ll do the latter. And why do you keep calling me ‘baby’?”

“’Cause you’re my cute lil angry baby. And I love ya.” Eric explained with an overwhelming truth in his words.

Kyle shook his head, hoping it would take the smile away from his lips. He leaned his head back and exhaled deeply. “Shut up.”

“I love you so much, Kyle,” Eric mumbled, his coherency fading into nothingness as his crossfaded state drove him even further towards slumber. “You have no fuckin’ clue.”

This barely audible confession wouldn’t allow Kyle to sleep until he pressed, “What do you mean by that?”

The brunette used a large amount of effort to cast his stare upon his caretaker again. Kyle’s quizzical expression was _so adorable_ , and maybe this was the drugs pulling information that he so tactfully stored inside his brain for years in order to preserve their friendship, but he sure as hell meant every word that he uttered ungracefully. “I mean I’m, like, in love with you. I just—you’re so fuckin’ amazing all the time. I mean, I’m higher than Wiz Khalifa and a pain in the ass to begin with but you’re still letting me stay here, laying on top of you. I just love you so much. Hey, that’s what I came here to tell you!”

Kyle’s heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting for such a long time to hear all of this from Eric, but not from drunken word-vomit. “You’re so fucked up, dude.”

Eric propped himself up and narrowed his eyes at Kyle, “You don’t believe me.”

“Of course I don’t, you reek of weed and I can taste the alcohol from your mouth. You’re spewing bullshit you don’t mean.” Kyle wasn’t exactly sure who he was trying to convince of this but he spoke with conviction nonetheless.

Eric huffed indignantly. “I’m not lying, I have proof! I’d never lie to you, Kyle.”

“What in the hell are you talking about? ! Lying it a _personality trait_ of yours! You literally lied to me today. I asked you if you took my phone charger and you said _no_ when you did. If that isn’t lying, then what is it?”

“Okay, shut up, I’m not lying about this.”

“Yeah, okay.” Kyle rolled his eyes. “Go to sleep, dude.”

“Kahl. I’m going to something very important to you right now.” Eric warned, making a gun with both hands and pointing at Kyle, who found himself snorting at the drunk boy’s humorous actions. “I probably won’t remember any of this. Probably. So I really need you to remind me that I told you what I’m about to say when I’m all boring and sober again so that we can make out. Okay?”

“Or, you can shut the fuck up and let me sleep.”

“God, you suck.” Eric disagreed. He slumped back down against his gangly pillow, rolling between his long legs and pressing the side of his face to his flat tummy. “I was gonna tell you about the poem I wrote about you but I guess I’m not gonna now.”

“ _What?!”_ Kyle barked a laugh. “You wrote a poem about me?”

“Yes, it’s _really_ bad,” Eric giggled. The logical side of him was stifled by alcohol, screaming at him to shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t hear it. “D’you remember that thing we had to do in English where it was a gay ass poem about something in your life that symbolizes love and beauty?”

Kyle caught on quickly, letting his jaw hang open. “I don’t believe you.”

“I will show you tomorrow, mister,” Eric assured him, leaning up to maladroitly tap the tip of his long nose.

“No you won’t,” Kyle retorted, backing away from his finger with a grin. “You’ll be sober and heartless against tomorrow.”

Eric gasped, “That is offensive.”

“It was meant to be. Now, sleep this off, dude.”

The drunken boy released a forlorn sigh and nestled into Kyle’s belly. His thumb instinctively grazed against his bare thigh where it resided. “Is it ‘cause you don’t like me back?” Eric made the inquiry concerning Kyle’s pithy disregard for the announcement of his feelings.

“No, I—“ Kyle interrupted himself with a groan. “I mean, you’re high as shit and I took you out of the cold, cleaned you up, and let you lay not only in my bed, but in my _lap_. On top of all that, you’re a dick.”

“So… you think I’m a dick and you don’t like me?” Eric asked, confused.

“No! My point was I don’t just do this kind of thing for anyone. So that should tell you something.”

Eric hummed happily and gave Kyle’s skinny thigh a flirtatious squeeze. Kyle yelped quietly at the sudden contact. “I like ya, too, Jewboy. We should go out.”

“Go to _sleep_ , Jesus tap-dancing Christ.”

“When I close my eyes and try to sleep, I fall apart, I find it hard to breath—you’re the reason, the only reason!” Eric attempted to sing, completely off key.

Kyle cringed. “Did you just sing Five Seconds of Summer at me?”

“It’s a good song.” Eric shrugged.

Kyle laughed. “Go to sleep.”

“Wanna know what I love about you?” Eric questioned.

“No.”

Eric pressed on anyways, “You’re beautiful. Like, your face and stuff.”

Kyle simpered down at the other boy, the small amount of moonlight breaking through the window illuminating his dopey expression. He wanted to believe Eric meant all that he revealed; why would he say it drunk if he didn’t think it sober? However, his pessimism continued to make him doubt this. It was too good to be real. This was such a cheesy fanfiction scenario; Eric getting drunk and Kyle catering to his needs and in return Eric spilling his guts. It was all too easy. Where was the catch? “Are you ever going to shut up? ‘Cause I have just enough energy left to push you out of my bed.”

“Just let me compliment you!”

Kyle growled. “Fine. Go on.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Eric cleared his throat, continued. “You’re just seriously perfect, Kyle.”—he waggled his eyebrows, proud of uttering his name correctly—“Like, you have the prettiest eyes in the world and your hair is so curly and floppy and it’s bright red and I know I rip on you for it all the time and you hate it but I love it. It’s so unique, just like you, y’know? Everything about you is, like, super adorable and quirky. Even your Jew nose.”

Kyle rolled the prettiest eyes ever, but was indubitably flattered by these compliments. “Gee, thanks, Cartman.”

Eric hummed. “Plus, you have the nicest ass _ever_.”

“I don’t understand what makes it so great! Kenny and Bebe make a comment about it at least once a week.”

“That’s because they’re whores and they know a great ass when they see one,” Eric explained bluntly. “You could bounce a dime off those perk cheeks, let me tell you.”

“Oh my god.” Kyle chuckled at the reference to Bebe’s note from the third grade.

Eric pressed his face against Kyle’s stomach as he cackled like a hyena. The redhead shushed him, worried the loud laughter would awaken a family member. Instead of successfully quieting him down, he ended up joining the infectiously adorable laughter—and he _really_ laughed when Eric started snorting.

“This is something else I love about you,” Eric managed when he finally calmed down. “You always make me happy.”

“Well, it’s not exactly hard when you’re stoned.” Kyle pointed out. “If I did a good job at making you happy sober you wouldn’t feel the need to smoke and drink.”

Eric shrugged. “I’ve just been sad lately ‘cause I wanna be with you and I know I’ll never get to be.”

Kyle frowned slightly, turning his head to the side. “What makes you say that?”

The brunette puffed out a scoff, shifting his stare up to Kyle’s face by resting his chin against his tummy. “Did you not just hear me? You’re perfect, and I’m a piece of shit. I’m too mean and fat.”

Kyle narrowed his eyes. “You seriously think I’m shallow enough to let your weight stop me from dating you? I don’t give a shit about that.”

“I just know you could do better. Like, Craig.”

“Craig’s dating Tweek!”

“I _know_ , I’m just sayin’. He’s skinny like you.”

“Whatever,” Kyle sneered. “I’d rather be with a fatass that I love than a boring twig.”

Eric laid his cheek down, continuing to lock his gaze on Kyle’s. “It’s not just that. You’re such a good person, and I’m just not.”

“Yes you are. I mean, you definitely still have your moments and you were the worst kid ever, but you’ve grown up a lot and you’re actually pretty nice to me and people. I’m glad that we can still get in fights about things and be sarcastic assholes to each other. It makes me feel like we still care.” Kyle disagreed.

The other boy’s lips stretched from ear to ear. “I love you so much.”

Kyle grinned, rolling his eyes. “You’re not even going to remember any of this.”

“I’ll try.”

“You should _try_ to go to sleep. I won’t even make you move if you do.” Kyle offered, shutting his eyes and placing his head back on his pillow. He traced his fingers through his hair, worrying his bottom lip as Eric squirmed around to find a comfortable position.

“Goodnight,” Eric yawned, shutting his eyes after wrapping his arms around Kyle’s waist and resting against his torso.

Kyle felt the sudden urge to tear up as the warmth of his drunken friend warmed his being and soul. It was a restless night for him, but some of the best sleep Eric had ever had. 

_

The minute Eric stirred into consciousness he was smacked with a monstrous hang-over. Being stupid with alcohol for a few hours was never worth the pounding against his skull and the rocky waves of vomit within his stomach, but he never seemed to learn his lesson. He groaned deeply against what he assumed was his pillow. His eyes shot open wide in shock when his pillow squirmed beneath him.

“Why are you still on me?” Kyle’s groggy voice asked in annoyance, attempting to turn to the side.

His wide, differently colored eyes stared at the sleepy redhead in utter confusion. Recollections of the night before’s endeavors were nonexistent after ingesting copious quantities of decadents. How he ended up in Kyle’s bed—and with his head against his lap—was beyond him. And, frankly, _terrified_ him.

Eric pushed himself upright abruptly, which only made his head ache more intensely. His body begged for him to drop it right back on Kyle’s tummy, but returning to his sober state of being made him revert back to his usual coping mechanism for his _feelings_ for Kyle—denial. As he forced himself away from the dormant body of his secret love, a horrific possibility crossed his mind. Had he revealed these feelings to Kyle in his stupor?

Kyle growled when Eric’s weight shifting the bed shook him. “Go back to bed, asshole.”

“No, dying, going home.” Eric struggled to string the words together. So many things were going on inside his head: deciding whether to distance himself from Kyle until he was sure that his secret had not been compromised or being nonchalant, worrying about the very real possibility of emptying his stomach on Kyle’s bedroom floor, and trying to stand without swaying. He cupped one hand over his eyes and used the mattress to steady himself with the other.

Kyle peeled his eyelids apart and smirked at his disheveled friend. Unlike Eric, Kyle’s memory of the drunken declarations made in the wee hours of the morning were both surviving and vivid. It made his belly bubble with excited feelings of new possibilities; however, reality planted doubt in his mind. Eric probably forgot everything that was said. He sighed, “Be careful if you’re going outside. I won’t feel bad when you slip and crack your head open.”

“Okay, mother.” Eric’s half-ass sardonic retort made Kyle roll his eyes. “Why the fuck am I in your bedroom? We didn’t fuck, did we?”

“Goddamn it, no,” Kyle huffed. “You showed up in my backyard higher than a kite and I took you in. You decided sleeping on me was more comfortable than a pillow, so, that’s why you woke up with a face full of my dick.”

Eric chuckled dryly, “I wasn’t _complaining_ about it. Did I, uh… Say anything to you?”

Kyle’s cheeks began to flush and a glimmer of hope danced inside his irises. If Eric had been looking, he would have seen his deep, chocolate brown eyes shining at him like he had always pictured. “You said a _lot_ of stuff.” 

“Fuck,” He murmured to himself. This had happened before, but thankfully his muscle memory carried him to the wrong house; ending up in Butters’s room and passing out on the floor before professing his love to the boy who was _not_ Kyle. However, this boy _was._ His heart thumped with the fear of his charade being over. A laugh forced itself from his throat. He anxiously improvised to prevent himself from hearing Kyle’s response to whatever the hell he had told him, “Man, I was so fucked up last night. I wish I had a video of me—I always say the craziest shit. I pull it all out of my ass.”

The small glisten of anticipation began to die away from within the red-head. He bit a lip, nodding, “Uh, yeah, you said some pretty outrageous stuff. I mean, you actually complimented me and…” He trailed off.

Eric’s stomach did a flip-flop, caused both by Kyle’s words and the bile stirring within him. He raised his eyebrows to his hairline. “You’re telling me I was nice to a _Jew_? Man, I’m never mixing alcohols again.”

“Ha-ha,” Kyle droned. “You’re welcome for catering to you, by the way. It was no problem at all to drag your fat ass up my stairs when you couldn’t walk in a straight line.”

“Well, was it at least better than me calling you a million times?”

“No. It was way worse.” Kyle exhaled deeply before turning on his side to face away from Eric. Why was he being so neutral? Did he truly not mean what he said in his rare form, or was he simply trying to avoid the topic? Either way, Kyle couldn’t help but feel offended and exasperated. “I’m going back to sleep, so, either go back to bed or get out.”

Eric cocked an eyebrow at the sudden demeanor shift. “What crawled up your ass?”

“Sleep or _get out_ , Cartman. I’m not fucking playing anymore.” Kyle emphasized icily.

The hungover teen scrunched his nose in distaste, but decided he was too unstable to delve into an argument with the pissed off Kyle. Instead he bent down slowly, all the blood rushing to his head with the simplest side-ways movement. He groaned to himself as he retrieved the winter coat that had been discarded beside his shoes. He went to rub his forehead and winced when his fingers hit a sore spot. Was that a cut? Jesus, he _really_ needed to quit drinking.

On the arduous and painfully slow journey home, Eric began to draw together bits and pieces of what occurred. He had very faint flashes of discussing his love for Kyle with Clyde and Token (the thought of those two assholes knowing about his little secret sent a whole new wave of panic throughout him. He was banking on the possibility that they shared his fuzzy memory). He remembered that they had come to the consensus that he should just be bold and put it all out on the table; reveal his feelings for Kyle to the bitchy, beautiful boy himself. Stumbling across the street and into Kyle’s yard was about all that was a coherent thought beyond that. And, for some reason, the scent of Kyle’s sheets and bed-shirt were fresh in his mind. He had always found comfort in the unique aroma that was specific to Kyle and unexplainable, but he never quite had his face pressed up against something that smelled of it for ample periods of time. It made him feel whole and warm on the inside.

All this thinking and sleuthing rendered Eric an even more exhausted mess. As soon as he reached his own bed he collapsed and didn’t open his eyes again for another ten hours.

_

“But, it’s Sunday, dude! Everyone goes sledding today!” Stan tried to reason with his disgruntled best friend. Kyle had been acting strange all week; he was spacey and fussy, and Stan was pretty sure he’d blow a gasket if Cartman made one more accusation of sand being in his vagina.

Kyle shrugged. “I just don’t feel like going. It’s too cold.”

“It’s Colorado. It’s _always_ cold.”

“Still,”

Stan sighed, tossing his hands up, “Alright, what’s going on with you, dude? You’ve been acting cagey all week.”

Sharp brown eyes fixed on Stan’s, laced with denial and anger. “Nothing is wrong, okay? _Please_ do not start interrogating me.”

“Don’t be a dick. You know I ask because I care.” He shot back. “I’m not stupid, I know when something’s going on. Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Because it’s none of your business, Stan!” Kyle snapped, immediately remorseful for his harshness. His features softened when he read the sincerity of his friend’s expression. “I’m sorry—I’m just stressed out. Let’s… Let’s just go sledding with the guys.”

Stan frowned. “Ky, if you just want to chill out here, we can play video games or something. I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Kenny and Fatass are expecting us, anyways.” Kyle replied dismissively. He bustled to the front door and slid his feet into his boots. Stan hesitantly followed suit and tried to read Kyle’s mind somehow. Didn’t best friend have telepathic communication? Something was definitely wrong, and it killed him to not know.

They engaged in idle conversation as they retrieved the snowboards out of Stan’s garage and headed up to their favorite hill near Stark’s pond. When their pre-teenage years rendered the four boys too big to share a single sled, they were forced to purchase a second one and race one another. The normal setup was Kyle and Eric, Stan and Kenny (simply because Kyle was the thinnest and Eric was the not-so-thinnest)—but Kyle was not overly interested in sharing anything with Eric at that particular time. He possessed an unresolved rage towards him that was born the morning after he showed up in his backyard completely trashed.

Kyle couldn’t even form a cohesive reasoning for his ire, but he knew for damn sure it was Eric’s fault. Whether or not he meant to, he played with Kyle’s very emotions; raising his expectations for something great to happen, then harshly lowering them right back down with his listless reactions and uncaring façade. Only, Kyle wasn’t aware that it was an act—he just assumed it was Cartman being Cartman. A dick.

“Well, it’s about time you ladies decided to show up.” Eric commented on Stan and Kyle’s arrival. Kenny was at his side, inappropriately dressed for the snowy weather in only a jean jacket.

“I didn’t realize we were on a schedule, here.” Stan scoffed, taking a glance at Kyle to satisfy his concern. The redhead was unamused and remained “stressed out”. Whatever the hell that truly meant.

The four boys were trekking up the steep hill when a characteristic argument between Kyle and Cartman broke out. These competitive skirmishes were a daily ritual; it just wasn’t the two of them if there wasn’t a passionate debate about something that they wouldn’t even think about in two hours. Kenny and Stan learned over the years to stand back and let them blow off their steam, joking about how it was just unresolved sexual tension. They had no idea how right they were.

“You always sled with me, why do you want to go with Kenny all of a sudden?” Eric pressed, truly uneased by Kyle’s request to change sledding-partners. He had been taking a lot more heat than usual from the Broflovski boy and he wasn’t quite sure why or what to make of it. He assumed it was something he had said when he was drunk and it was so frustrating to not know what he could have said to piss Kyle off to this extent.

“Because I fucking hate you, remember?” Kyle growled in a mater-of-fact tone.

Eric scoffed, “Yet, here we are at nearly eighteen years of age and you still spend a majority of your time with me. What the hell is your problem? Is it that time of the month?”

“Goddamn it, Cartman!” Kyle exclaimed, wrath billowing inside of him. He exerted some of the energy by shoving Eric harshly. “One, I have a fucking penis. Two, _you’re_ my problem!”

Eric stumbled and panic fluttered his chest before he managed to gain his footing. He shot Kyle a now equally disgruntled glare. “What the fuck did I do?! You’ve been riding my ass all week!” This accusation was topped off with a less harsh nudge to Kyle’s body. They were on up-hill ground and, much to his chagrin; he didn’t want Kyle to tumble down per chance of him getting hurt.

Kyle was _seething,_ taking another push at his opponent with less concern for whether or not he went falling backwards down the faint incline. “Has it never occurred to you that maybe one day I’ll get fucking tired of your bullshit? Grow the hell up!”

The brunette threw his arms up in mock submission. “What the hell are you even talking about?! I haven’t done _shit_ to you!”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! And the fact that you won’t even acknowledge it is why I’m so pissed at you, you fucking pussy!” Kyle growled.

Kenny and Stan exchanged concerned glances. Did those two know something they didn’t know?

Eric’s heart dropped to the base of his stomach when he realized that his suspicion of Kyle being upset by his drunken words was accurate. He felt even more defensive after this development, “So, what? You’re just gonna pout and make me guess? And I’m the goddamn pussy? I’m the one that needs to grow up? I seriously don’t know what I did! I’m pretty sure mature people talk about it instead of stomping their foot and whining, Kahl!”

“What the hell is going on, you guys?” Kenny attempted to interject over the heated battle, but his words were lost in translation underneath the raised voices.

“Then I guess I’m not fucking mature.” Kyle concluded angrily before he gave Eric the most powerful shove he had to offer. As a result, the other boy lost his footing and fell to the ground with a surprised shout. On pure reflex, he managed to grasp one of Kyle’s ankles and take him down to the barely soft blanket of snow on the ground. The two slid down the small amount of hill before Kyle climbed on top of the other boy and started wailing on him.

“Kyle! Dude, chill out!” Stan tried to reason as he and Kenny trotted behind the brawlers.

Eric fought for dominance by catching Kyle’s balled fists and encasing them in his larger hands. Brow furrowed, he barked, “Listen to your boyfriend, asshole!”

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend!” Kyle roared through gritted teeth. He never planned to resort to violence, but _god_ was he mad. Maybe Eric had a point about him addressing it instead of lashing out and ignoring him, but why did he always have to be the bigger person? Why couldn’t Eric just admit his feelings? “I’m so tired of your fucking bullshit!”

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Eric grumbled as Kyle struggled for freedom, very likely to win. He used his superior upper body strength to roll Kyle off of him. Kyle kicked and fought as he was pinned to the snow, a chunk of icy precipitation falling into the collar of his coat. He didn’t even notice. “Calm the fuck down, man! Let’s _talk_ about this!”

“I wanted to talk about this a week ago! But _no,_ you have to act like I don’t fucking matter to you like always!”

“What the hell is going on?!” Stan questioned demandingly, also going unnoticed by Eric and Kyle. He thought about intervening physically, but did not particularly feel like also getting thrown to the snow-laden ground.

Kenny shrugged, saying, “I dunno, but sparks are a-flyin’, are they not?”

“Dude,” Stan breathed a chuckle, shaking his head. 

“What are you talking about?! Please fill me in on whatever I said to you that night, because if it wasn’t obvious enough, I don’t fucking remember!” Eric defended. He was a bit relieved when he didn’t have to reign in the violent fidgeting from Kyle beneath him.

Kyle’s lips formed a tight line and intense chocolate eyes stared straight into deep Eric’s with angst and hurt inside them. Eric could have sworn they would release tears at any moment. It made him feel extremely shitty. Kyle’s voice was soft, intimidatingly juxtaposed with his previous volume. “If I say it in front of anyone you’ll just deny it. You couldn’t even admit it to me.”

Any indication of indignation fell from Eric’s expression. His lips parted, floundering with no cleverly crafted reply. He could see that Kyle wasn’t just annoyed by some obnoxious display of bigotry, he was _hurt_ by what he had said or done. Despite the endless efforts to get under Kyle’s skin, he never wanted to be the cause of that broken look in those eyes. It broke his own heart.

Eric didn’t push back when Kyle threw him off his slim frame and strutted off towards the neighborhood. Stan looked between Eric and Kyle, trying to decide whether or not it’d be best to chase after him. Kenny simply sighed at the teenager that remained on his knees. “What the hell did you do, Cartman?”

“I-I don’t know, Ken, just leave it.” Eric sighed with surprising passiveness.

“Uh, I kinda want to know what that was all about, too.” Stan stuck their claim and tucked his arms over his chest in an authoritative stance.

Eric pulled himself up and adjusted his beanie before sending a glare their way. “Well, that fucking sucks, because it’s none of your goddamn business.”

With that, Eric stormed off the same way Kyle did, leaving Kenny and Stan with a dozen unanswered questions.

_

A few hours after the showdown at Stark’s, Kenny and Stan decided that it had been a sufficient amount of time had passed for their friend to calm down. They headed over to the Broflovski residence in search of answers. They were admitted entrance to the humble Jewish household by Kyle mother, who offered them a drink. They politely declined before heading up to Kyle’s room—where he had been all afternoon.

“Kyle?” Stan asked from behind the wooden door as he gently tapped his knuckles against it.

“Come in.” An unenthusiastic reply sounded from the bedroom. Stan twisted the knob and the blond boy followed him inside. Kyle was in the middle of folding clothes to obsessive perfection. Stan bit a lip, noticing the habit as stress cleaning. Something about Cartman was surely bothering him. “Hey, dude.”

“Hey,” Kyle lamely returned the greeting. He failed to glance up at his two friends, attempting to submerge himself in the mindless task of crisply folding his t-shirts. When things in his life didn’t make sense or caused him anxiety, he enjoyed performing simple tasks such as cleaning or writing or folding laundry. It helped him feel like he still had a grip on life—if he could do something like this, he was still in control of himself. Even if he felt very _out_ of control as he did then.

Stan granted him a tentative grin. “We have absolutely no clue what’s going on, but we’re here for you if you need to get something off your chest. In a less punching-Cartman kind of way,”

“That’s my favorite way to diffuse my anger.” Kyle quipped.

“Same.” Kenny nodded.

Stan chuckled, “Seriously, dude. What’s going on?”

Kyle thoroughly considered telling them to fuck off again. It would be much easier than admitting and explaining everything. On the other hand, it would be hypocritical to do so in his mind. All he really wanted was _Eric_ to confess _, Eric_ to make the first move. He let out a long, dramatic huff of air and lowered himself onto the mattress. He gave his two good friends a pitiful expression. “Promise you guys won’t rip on me?”

“We’ll do our best.” Stan assured him. He pulled Kyle’s office chair from the desk to his bedside and gave him his attention. Kenny glanced at the pile of clothes on the bed adjacent to Kyle and decided that sitting in Stan’s lap was the quickest solution to his seat-less situation. “Dude, get off me!” Stan groaned as the blond rested all his weight upon his thighs.

“Don’t be a homophobe,” Kenny said. “Now, do tell us what happened, Kyle.”

Kyle laughed a little at his friend before gaping at the floor and starting slowly, “So, you know how Cartman’s been getting high with Clyde lately?”

“Yes.” Kenny rolled his eyes. “Fucking brags about it constantly.”

“Right?” Kyle agreed, shaking his head. “Well, he’d been calling me super fucking early in the morning and I mean all he said was mindless gibberish until I got him to lie down. But, then this stupid asshole decides to come to my house last week. I found him in my back yard with a bloody cut on his head and dragged him inside.”

“I’d’ve left his ass.” Stan scoffed.

“Trust me, I considered it. Anyways, I clean him up, he’s all giggly and loopy and shit, but he starts to get like… Serious.” Kenny and Stan signified their intrigue by raising their brows. Kyle appeased them, “He, uh… Kept calling me baby and telling me he loves me. And he said how he came there to tell me he’s in love with me and he wrote a poem about me—“

“Okay, rewind,” Stan interrupted. He was incredibly perplexed. “We’re talking about Cartman, right?”

“Yes.”

“Eric Cartman?”

“The very same.”

Stan perks his head to the side. “Cartman is in love with you?”

“You know, it kind of makes sense,” Kenny reasoned. “He’s always trying to get Kyle’s attention, he lowkey flirts _all_ the time, and that whole San Francisco thing when we were ten,”

“What?” Kyle asked, confused.

Kenny shook his head. “So, why’re you so pissed off?”

Kyle’s cheeks began to turn the color of his hair, tummy turning with uncertainty. He was afraid to see their reactions to his confession. Stan and Kenny were the farthest thing from homophobic, and Kyle was aware of that. He was more worried that they would be insulted that he hadn’t told them such a huge secret. “Well, I… The feelings are mutual?”

Stan and Kenny dropped their jaws in unison. “What?!”

“Okay, please don’t make this a big deal,” Kyle pleaded, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m just mad because he said all this stuff and it made me so happy to finally hear it and then he wakes up the next morning and he’s all ‘Yeah I was totally fucked up, I didn’t mean anything’, and I dunno, it just… It hurt.”

His friends took another moment to process the fact that Kyle actually liked Cartman back. Cartman having feelings for Kyle was much more easily believable considering his obsessive behavior and the fact that Kyle is normal and attractive. But, Kyle finding something worthy of loving in the one that spends day after day judging every move he makes? There was no explanation.

“Well, uh,” Stan started, losing his train of thought before he even got on.

Kenny glanced back at Stan and began gesturing to help him explain, “Well, you see… Cartman is, like, a total asshole, y’know? I’m not seeing what you _see_ in him.”

“Oh, c’mon, guy, you know he’s gotten a lot better. That therapist really helped him out. He just has a lot of baggage. And who the hell doesn’t?” Kyle extrapolated. The two friends were still bemused. “There’s just this inexplicable connection I feel and I just really like him. I know, it’s weird.”

Stan shook his head, “Pft, nah. It’s not weird.”

“It’s super fucking weird.” Kenny amended truthfully.

“It’s super duper fucking weird,” Stan nodded. “But, it’s okay. So, he loves you but refuses to admit it unless he’s stoned, and you love him but refuse to pursue it until he admits he loves you?”

Kyle squinted. “Don’t forget the part where I’m right and he’s wrong.”

“Duly noted.” Stan nodded, patting Kenny’s thigh to signal him to stand. “Let’s go, fellow match maker.” Kenny obeyed and the two headed towards the entrance to Kyle’s bedroom.

“Woah, wait, what are you doing?” Kyle quirked his head at them.

“To talk to your man,” Kenny told him with a cheeky wink.

The redhead’s eyes went wide, striding toward them, “No, no, no, do not do that!”

Stan cocked an eyebrow, “Why the hell not? All you two need to do is talk to each other,”

Kyle exhaled deeply, “Please just let me take care of this, you guys, okay? It’s serious, this isn’t kid shit we can all just play telephone with and expect everything to turn out okay. I am going to sit down and really think about how I want to handle this in a mature, healthy way. Okay? Please let me do that.”

Kenny glanced between his two friends before nodding in agreement, “You’re right, bud, we’ll stay out of it.”

Sighing in somewhat relief, Kyle nodded, “It’s just what’s best.”

The two nodded in agreement before saying their good-byes and exiting the Broflovski residence. As soon as they were out of earshot, Kenny turned to his fellow matchmaker with a sly smirk, “We’re gonna go talk to Cartman about this, right?”

“Oh, for sure,” Stan confirmed, heading in the direction of Eric’s house.

_

Over the years of being such a close-knit group of friends, the boys formed comfortable habits around one another. One of these was walking into Eric’s house completely unannounced any hour of the day. Since it was only Eric and his mother, Leanne, no one minded at all. They could help themselves to anything in the fridge or cabinets as well (unless it was labelled in Eric’s handwriting _Mine!_ or _Don’t Touch!_ ). The two boys causally strolled through the front door that day to find Eric lounging on the couch, mindlessly maneuvering through _Mario Kart’s_ pixelated race courses.

“What do you guys want?” Eric questioned curtly. 

“To talk about Kyle,” Kenny told him truthfully as he stepped over to the sofa, pushing Eric’s feet off of one cushion to make room for himself.

The brunette paused his video game and glared at his friend. “It’s very obvious that Kyle wants nothing to do with me, so if you could never mention it again, that’d be sweet.”

“Or, you could suck it up and tell him how you feel.” Kenny suggested with sass laced into his tone. He was a generally quiet person and rarely spoke out in a crowd, but being Eric’s “BFF” through the years fostered a rare comfortability, especially when it came to telling him off.

“You know what?” Eric spoke in an exasperated tone. He rubbed his eyes before throwing his hand in the air as he spoke, “I would love to tell Kyle exactly how I feel about him. I would kill to be with him. But, it just wouldn’t work, okay? Even if he did feel the same, which I know he doesn’t, he shouldn’t be with me.”

“Why not?” Stan pressed.

“Hello? I’m Eric Cartman, have we not met? I’m the worst person in the world and Kyle Broflovski is the most perfect person in the world.” He reasoned with genuine despondency in his voice.

Kenny wasn’t buying it. “That’s true, but you know that’s not why. You’re just too chicken-shit.”

“Am not!” Eric retorted childishly. “I just… I think he could do better, and I want him to be happy.”

“Well, apparently he’d be happy with you.” Stan said, remaining utterly baffled by Kyle’s confession.

“What?” It was Eric’s turn to be confused about the redhead’s feelings for him.

Stan let out a long sigh before confirming what was obvious, “Why do you think he’s all pissed off? Kyle likes you back. He wants you stop acting like a dumbass and admit it to him.”

Eric’s eyes found the carpet as pride and joy swept through his being. The initial excitement was killed quickly, however. Kyle loving him? No _way_. That was far too good to be true. “Okay, I get if this is some kind of payback for me being dicks to you guys but just please don’t fuck with me about this. This is just something I want to bury—“

“We’re not fucking with you, dude, we’re serious. Kyle said so himself. Like, today.” Stan confirmed.

Eric’s mouth hung-open wide enough to catch flies. He glanced up at Kenny, searching for affirmation from the blond as well. Kenny nodded, “It’s true.”

“He feels like you fucked with his feelings. ‘Cause you told him about how you loved him and… you wrote him a poem?” The dark-haired boy quirked an eyebrow at him.

Eric’s face immediately flushed, and he clapped his hand over it to compensate. “Oh, god, I told him about that?”

“Can I _please_ read it?” Kenny requested eagerly.

Eric shot him a warning glare. “Never. Wait…” A light-bulb went off in his scheming brain. “Okay, you guys swear on your fucking mom’s graves that you’re not lying about Kyle liking me?”

“Believe me, I’m just as confused as you are.” Stan shook his head.

“So, he’s mad because he thinks I’m fucking with his feelings and he wants me to admit that I love him.”

“Yes.” Kenny nodded, trying to dissect his plan. “What are you gonna do?”

Eric smirked. “Something public. Something romantic. Something completely unnecessary.”

“Oh, Christ.” Stan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

_

When Monday morning rolled around Kyle was undeniably vexed by the lack of word from his friend group. He didn’t allow that to stop him from fulfilling their car-pooling plan, however. He showed up at Stan’s house at their usually scheduled time to find only himself and Kenny. He frowned, debating on whether or not he should even ask where Eric was.

“Hey, Ky.” Kenny greeted with a stupid smile. This instantly told Kyle they were up to something—or at least knew something he didn’t know.

“What? What’s going on?” He demanded, creasing his brow.

“Nothing, nothing!” Kenny assured. He hooked their lanky arms and led him towards Stan’s car, which he had recently inherited from his older sister. “Business as usual.”

“Yeah, where’s Cartman? Too much of a pussy to be in the same car as me today?” Kyle scoffed on climbing into the back seat of the 2007 Honda.

“Not exactly,” Kenny replied.

Kyle didn’t even question it, deciding he was too tired. The rest of the conversation during the ride was between Kenny and Stan, and Kyle began to drown in his thoughts. He wondered if his and Eric’s relationship was now completely beyond repair. They had hit some definite rough patches in the past, but they always pulled through as good friends. Would this situation cause a more significant drift?

On entering the school, Kyle felt a weight on his shoulders. He knew if this stalemate with Eric continued for too long he would have to be the one to conclude it by giving one of his ‘gay speeches’ or just apologizing. He was far too stubborn to do so currently and was hoping he wouldn’t have to get to that point. But swallowing his pride was less of a problem for him than losing companionship with Eric for good.

The first couple periods seemed to drag on for days. Kyle barely paid attention to anything but the fact that during the first class of the day Eric refused to so much as glance at him. Was that how it was going to be? Eric had used to _ignore Kyle until he can’t take it_ technique in the past, but this situation held a lot more pertinence to both of them than a mild skirmish on whether or not Donald Trump would make a suitable president. Nobody’s mothers were insulted this time; only true, vulnerable feelings were forced to the surface.

When fourth period English rolled around, however, the whole game was changed.

“Alright, class, turn in your poems to the fourth period tray, please. If you didn’t finish them you can turn it in tomorrow for half credit, but tomorrow is it.” Their teacher, Mrs. Johnson, told them. She raised her voice to be heard over the metal chair legs skidding across the linoleum floor as several students headed over to turn in their assignment, “Would anyone like to read their poem to the class?”

“I would.” A familiar voice volunteered. The same voice cut through Kyle’s thought’s just like in the climax of a cheesy love story, _D’you remember that thing we had to do in English where it was a gay ass poem about something in your life that symbolizes love and beauty?_

Kyle’s eyes all but bulged out of their sockets, following Eric to the front of the room. He sent Kyle a wink before standing professionally before his peers. He was clad in his usual attire: jeans, plain t-shirt, flannel, and cocky smirk. Kyle would have rolled his eyes had they not been preoccupied by being widened as far as they would go.

Eric Cartman, his sarcastic, insincere dumbass of a crush, was getting ready to read his poem about how beautiful Kyle was to the entire class. Kyle knew he was shameless, but he would have never thought in a billion years he’d profess his love to anyone in front of an audience—let alone _Kyle_ , and let alone in the form of a poem. The asshole couldn’t even comfortably tell Kyle himself that he loved him.

Then it hit Kyle. Maybe that was the hardest part for him.

Eric cleared his throat, fist over his lips. “This poem is called ‘Jewboy’,” He scanned his eyes along the piece of absolute shit he was about to spew. Quality didn’t truly mater in this situation. As long as Kyle knew he wasn’t a pussy about his feelings, he would be just fine with an average grade. His eyes focused on anywhere but Kyle’s face as he began reading his poetry assignment in front of his cackling peers.

_“You ask me how beauty takes its shape,_

_my answer is his smiling face._

_Brown eyes warm yet cold as ice_

_draw me in and watch me die._

_The fire within him makes me fight_

_nothing else makes me feel alive._

_So long I’ve hope and prayed,_

_That one day he’ll feel the same._

_Though we fight and joke and judge,_

_I’ll always love him. Straight up.”_

The whole class is flabbergasted by every part of this situation (aside from Kenny, who video-taped it). Eric snapped for his trance, and then turned his poem into the tray. “That was… Very nice, Eric.” Mrs. Johnson told him, eyes fixed on her only Jewish student in the front row that was blushing like a lunatic.

Despite the fact that that poem was by far the cheesiest thing in the world, Kyle fought every muscle in his face not to smile. It warmed him from his very core to know that Eric not only thought about him like that, but was willing to proudly proclaim it to the entire class of kids that have known him since he was four years old. He couldn’t believe he had done that. Then again, that was just Eric Cartman, wasn’t it? Kyle could never expect him to do the expected.

When the bell finally concluded the end of English class, everyone bustled to their unofficial gossip groups to discuss what the fuck just happened between Cartman and Kyle. The redhead watched Cartman exit the class and he hurriedly gathered his things. He stalked after the boy and took him by the wrist when he caught up.

Eric’s heart fluttered when he turned around to find Kyle’s warm yet ice cold brown eyes. He smiled at Kyle’s beautiful smile. “What’d you think?”

“It fucking sucked.” Kyle assured him before grabbing him by the collar and drawing him close. He crashed his lips against Eric’s and kissed him feverishly for the world to see.

A combination of relief and _holy fucking shit_ washed over Eric. His heart swelled, overtaking his other organs and impairing his senses to nothing but Kyle, all things Kyle. The sweet tastes of Kyle’s lips, the feelings of security and adoration and arousal that came from the gesture, and Kyle’s slim hips in his grip. They had certainly taken a long time and a rocky route to get there, but Eric wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“I have a poem for you, too.” Kyle’s sultry tone purred as he pulled away. He wrapped his arms around Eric’s shoulders.

“Yeah?” Eric questioned, his voice laced with amazement. His arms encircled Kyle’s body and held him close. He was half expecting to wake up from his dream at this point.

“It’s a haiku,” Kyle confirmed, and then counted out the syllables on his fingers, “I will date you now, if you promise me that, you won’t make Jew jokes.”

Eric smirked, trying to create a reply with the same requirements, “You’ll date me anyways, because I am so awesome, and you’re stupid Jew—ah, fuck it,” He gave up easily, attaching his lips to Kyle’s again instead. The redhead smiled into the kiss and felt that weight roll right off his shoulders. Perhaps he would no longer answer Eric’s stoned phone calls at three in the morning.


End file.
